


13 Reasons Why...White Boys Kneel

by JustCuria



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Asian Character(s), Cuckolding, Dom/sub, Homosexuality, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Break, Mind Games, Mindfuck, Porn, Power Dynamics, Race, Race Play, Raceplay, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-01-10 05:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12292671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustCuria/pseuds/JustCuria
Summary: Clay receives a strange text from an unknown sender...and begins his descent toward Asian submission. More tags/relationships added as story progresses. Warnings: Involves raceplay.





	1. Reason 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story involves raceplay -- It is a sexual fantasy that centers on the idea of dom/sub relationships between people of different races because of their race. It is not meant to be a true commentary on race relations or race generally; it's just a fantasy. If it's not for you, I encourage you not to read. But if it is -- enjoy. Kudos and comments will let me know if there's enough interest to continue this.

Clay Jenson was a more-or-less average 16-year old boy in a more-or-less average town in middle America. He was deep in the throes of his sophomore year at Liberty High School, surrounded by his average run-of-the-mill classmates and average, dull, disinterested teachers.

  
Clay thought about things normal 16-year-old boys think about. He thought about schoolwork — he liked to think that he was pretty good at school, though no genius; he thought about girls — one in particular, Hannah Baker, the mysterious, quirky new girl who moved to town over the summer; he thought about his crappy job at the Cressmont Theater — made a lot less crappy by the fact that Hannah had just started working there too.

  
He thought about sex. A lot. He thought about sex with Hannah of course, but he also thought about sex with plenty of other pretty girls and there was no shortage of bookmarked porn sites on his computer that he’d secretly masturbate to after school while his parents thought he was doing homework. Beside his desk sat a trusty waste paper basket perpetually half full of used tissues that he would conscientiously empty every few days lest the bleachy, sea-shore smell of cum permeate the room.

 

He was thinking about sex the morning his life began to become less average, about two months into the school year — waking from the haze of a dream he was pretty sure was about Hannah — a tangle of curly brown hair and sharp, blue eyes. Amid the warmth under his covers he could feel his pulsing erection begging for relief. He looked bleary-eyed to his alarm clock, inwardly groaning once realizing he’d only have a few minutes to get ready — not enough time to pull one out.  
He sat up, stretched, silently pleaded for his hard-on to subside, and then like every good millennial, checked his phone, laying resolutely on his nightstand.  
Not really expecting anything — who’d be messaging him anything overnight? — he was surprised to find there was a text from an unknown number. With that telltale hit of dopamine to the brain, Clay opened the text to find what was the most bizarre message he’d ever receive in his young life:

 

> Hello white boys! Today begins the first day of the rest of your lives. Starting today and over the next few weeks I’ll be sending a series of text messages I like to call: ’13 Reasons Why White Boys Should Submit to Asian Men.’ Yes, you read that right. I have 13 reasons why inferior white boys like you should surrender to their Asian betters and I can’t wait to share them with you. Now I know you’re probably thinking this sounds ridiculous, harassing and downright racists. Hear me out: Just follow my reasoning and at the end of these few weeks we’ll see how you still feel. If you still feel like these are the ravings of a race-baiting lunatic, you can forget it ever happened and move on with your lives. I have a feeling though, you’ll come to see things my way.
> 
> So let’s begin. I’ll start with something easy to digest: White boys should serve Asian Men because Asians are intellectually superior.
> 
> Have a great day!

Clay read the strange message several times over, hand absentmindedly on his still-hard dick. The text was jovial, sing-songy even, which made it all the more bewildering considering its underlying message. “Surrender to their Asian betters”? What dumb shit was that? He felt a dull, hot anger well up inside mixed with….something else. Was it embarrassment? Shame? Why would he feel embarrassed over some racist pervert’s sick fantasies?

And then it hit him: It was just some sexual fantasy. Someone must have texted it to him by accident. He looked at the number again. Huh, it was a local area code, so it must’ve come from someone in the county. Don’t ask what goes on behind closed doors in small town America, Clay mused.

He began to type: “Um think you have the wrong number. Also this is pretty sick.” He felt the need to express his indignation, needed to denounce what this stranger had written. Needed to defend his whiteness? He shook his head and deleted the second sentence. After all, this was a progressive town. Clay himself was the son of a college professor and a trial lawyer, both reliably liberal. He wasn’t altogether sure roleplaying about dominating another race was a “politically correct” fantasy, but then so long as they were consenting adults not hurting anyone else, why should it bother him? Hadn’t he, in fogs of horniness, clicked on interracial porn— watched petite white girls stretched open by big black cock? It felt obscene and taboo to be sure — it was about as raunchy as it got for Clay — but it was hot for some reason and there was a lot of it, so he at least knew he wasn’t alone in this particular voyeuristic pleasure.  
He sent the one-sentence text, and got ready for the day.

 

Twenty minutes later he was heading out the door avoiding a glare from his mother for missing family breakfast, muttering an apology as he grabbed his lunch. Before getting on his bike he checked his phone again. Nothing. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting — an apology? Whoever sent it was probably beyond embarrassed it got to the wrong person and wanted nothing more to do with Clay.

Still, as he rode to school, Clay couldn’t help but think of those words, a small prick of annoyance spiking within his chest. It was such a tired stereotype, the whole ‘Asians are smarter’ thing. It peeved off Clay — who was, after all, an honors student — to think that someone would consider him less intelligent because of his race.

He rode up to the school some minutes later, still preoccupied with his thoughts when a hand grabbed his shoulder from behind, causing him to jump.

“Shit dude, sorry, but I called your name like three times.” Clay found himself looking into the brown eyes of his shorter, gelled-back-haired best friend, Tony Padilla.

“Ah, sorry Tony, guess I’m a bit distracted.”

“Everything alright?” Tony was in a permanent state of concern for his friend — Clay was lucky to have him.

“Yeah, yeah, just a biology quiz first period. Going over the stages of mitosis in my head,” Clay said, forcing a chuckle. Tony looked unconvinced.

“Alright, well you know I’m here if you ever need to talk about something.”

Clay made a show of playfully rolling his eyes. Tony was always so sappy — he attributed it to his latino upbringing. “I know Tony, thanks. I’ll see you around.” He patted Tony on the shoulder as the bell for first period rang.

 

The first half of the day went by uneventfully. Clay mostly forgot about the text though he mentally winced every time an Asian passed him in the hall or spoke up in class. At lunch, he sat with Jeff Atkins, who he tutored in English. As Jeff fiddled with the poem he had due next period, Clay decided to take one last look at the text. Really, he should have deleted it by now, but he guessed he was just waiting for a response.

Reading over the words, he was again struck with how odd the phrasing was. He now was unsure why his mind immediately went to sex when he first read. Nothing about it was inherently sexual. He supposed he latched onto the distinction of white _boys_ and Asian _Men_ , the gendered language making him think it had something to do with some homosexual fetish. The idea of ‘submission’ was common in sexual fantasy too, right?

Ok, now he was going full-on AP English nerd over this stupid text, but he couldn’t help himself; he had to make sense of it. He continued reflecting: Besides, if it wasn’t sexual, what would it be? An honest-to-God digital-age mini-dissertation on the primacy of the Asian male? Someone couldn’t actually think like that in this day and age, could they? If it was a genuine explication of someone’s actual beliefs, the reasoning at its heart was more than a bit sparse. Asians are smarter? Ok, where’s the evidence? Where’s the data?  
But then conversely, for a sexual roleplaying fantasy, wasn’t this unusually elaborate? The text said there would be 13 reasons given over the course of several weeks! Seemed like a long time for two guys to get their rocks off. Clays thoughts kept circling back on themselves.

And then, for an instant, his heart stopped. Beneath his short reply, a text bubble with an ellipsis appeared indicating someone was writing back. Maybe he was about to get his apology after all.

Seconds later, a new message appeared: “Are you a white boy?”

Clay’s brow furrowed in confusion. What the hell was this? It was a simple question and yet for some reason it felt deeply intrusive. Compared to the long, strangely friendly first text, this response seemed sharp and curt — almost accusatory. Was he being conscripted into some gay guys racist roleplay?

He thought about how to respond to this question that was none of this rando’s business. He knew instantly that he would respond — the first text had stayed in the back of his mind for 5 hours since he had first read it. There was no way he was going to allow this to nag at him forever; he needed to get to the bottom of it.

He considered responding with a simple “No.” How was this guy gonna know any better? Maybe then he’d get an apology. But, in a silly way, it somehow felt like he’d be betraying his race. He wasn’t proud of being white exactly — that seemed a bit neo-Nazi-ish — but he wasn’t ashamed either. Why should he feel uncomfortable revealing his whiteness?  
He thought for a second of maybe replying, “No, I’m a white man,” but immediately realized how childish that sounded. Plus truth be told, he didn’t exactly believe that. He was only 16 for Christ’s sake! He played with telescopes, and read comic books, and still had an old pair of pajama bottoms with cartoons on them that he still wore on cold nights. He was a boy. A young man, perhaps, but also still a boy.

He mulled over “Yea?” trying to convey something like ‘Yes I am, you got a problem with that?’ but then he didn’t want to appear like he was soliciting more of this ridiculous back-and-forth. Or worse yet didn’t want to make it seem like he was interested in what this weirdo would have to say about his race.

In the end, he settled on an unadorned “Yes.” He felt a bit chagrined that this was the best he could muster after all that contemplating, but he reasoned that this way he adequately communicated his self-confidence in his own identity and maybe a hint of defiance at this guy’s unwelcome inquisition.

He hit ‘send’ and stared at screen, waiting. This time, only about half a minute passed before the ellipsis bubble popped up.

When the reply appeared on the screen, Clay’s mouth fell open as if he had been slapped. “Then these texts are for you.”

Nothing more, no further explanation. Clay was meant to get these texts? He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that, his mind sputtering to wrap itself around the implications. He was only jostled out of his brain-freeze when Jeff called his name, loudly: “Dude, where are you? I need your help.”

“Sorry, what’s up.” He pried his eyes from the screen of his phone.

“I’m supposed to use zuegma in this poem,” Jeff started, unsurprisingly mispronouncing the literary term. “What the hell is that!? Is it like smegma.” He grinned like an idiot over his own joke.

Clay wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, dude. That’s disgusting. Why do you even know that word? Let me see what you have so far.” He reached towards the poem, thankful for the distraction. He would just have to let this go; there was no use trying to get inside the mind of a pervert, who could very well be a pedophile after all. No, Clay was resolved to ignore any more texts.

 

Clay’s last class of the day was pre-calculus. By this time he was starting to feel back to normal, content in his decision to ignore the perversions that had appeared on his phone. In the back of his mind he knew he should just delete the texts and be done with them completely, and he would delete them when he got the chance. Of course he would.  
As he listened to his math teacher, Ms. Dunbar, drone on about the relationship between sin and co-sin, he reminded himself that he was one of the few sophomores to get into this class; typically it was for juniors. He was plenty smart, he thought, comforting himself, though admittedly the class wasn’t his best subject. But still, he did well enough. He tried to focus back on the lecture but furtively glanced at the clock above the door every few minutes waiting for this long, weird day to finally be over.  
About two minutes before the final bell would ring, Ms. Dunbar announced that she was handing back last week’s test. Clay’s heart rate quickened as it always did when he got back grades, but it usually was only good news.

“Congrats to Ms. Crimsen for getting a perfect score!” Clay thought he felt something like a click going of somewhere in his mind. Ok, yes, Courtney Crimsen was Asian — and another sophomore — but she’d always been good at math! Ever since they started together in middle school. Clay wasn’t sure what point he was trying to make to himself, only, he guessed, that it shouldn’t bother him as much as it was right now. At least she was a girl at any rate. He looked over at her; she was looking down at her desk blushing, trying not to look to pleased with herself.

“Well done, Mr. Dempsey.” Clay’s ears pricked up to this. Zach Dempsey, the “sweet, kinda dumb,” Zach Dempsey? The basketball-playing meathead jock? How well could he have done? Clay tried inconspicuously to look over to desk. From the way Zack was holding his exam towards him, he was able to unmistakably see the sharp point of the top of an ‘A’. Another click. Well so what? Good for Zach. He was a junior anyway. It didn’t mean _anything_.

Clay watched as Ms. Dunbar passed out more results. When she handed one back to Justin Foley, another junior, his face immediately went red and he quickly shoved the paper into his book bag. Not a good sign. Clay thought he caught Justin glancing over towards Zach’s desk before he got up and silently walked out of the classroom.

Ms. Dunbar finally got around to him and wordlessly placed Clay’s exam on his desk; he felt his body sink into his chair slightly. It was a ‘B’. It was fine, really. Math wasn’t his strongest subject, and pre-calc had so far been much more difficult than his past classes. But he still felt the heat of embarrassment around his collar. He’d been beaten by a pretty-boy jock. From some secret place within him came a mean whisper: “An _Asian_ pretty-boy jock.” Click.

 

At home, Clay skipped his usual daily jack-off session. He wasn’t in the mood. He struggled with his history reading, mind constantly wandering off. He wondered bitterly if he’d have better focus if he were Asian.

He was more quiet than usual at dinner.

“So Clay,” his mother started, part of her never-ending quest to strike up conversation with her son. “Did you get back your math test?” It would have seemed prophetic if she hadn’t asked him about it every day since he had taken the damned thing.

“Uh yeah,” he shifted in his seat. “I got a B,” he said, mumbling.

His dad looked up from his phone. “A B? B as in boy?”

A click went off in his head so hard, he actually winced. His dad’s choice of words immediately reminded him of the texts from earlier: “Are you a white boy?”

“Yes, a B,” he spoke clearer this time.

“Oh. Good,” his dad said, earning a withering glare from his mom. “What? I thought he might’ve of said he got a D! A B’s fine. I was never good at math, look how I turned out.”  
His mom’s face turned into one of comic skepticism before turning back to Clay. “A B is not bad, sweetie, but you know how important grades are this semester.” Here we go, Clay thought. Again. She said this every semester since he had started high school. “College is more difficult than ever to get into, what with a rising number of applicants, higher standardized test score, and then with affirmative action —“

His dad, the consummate progressive, butt in: “Really, Lainie, affirmative action? You’re not actually going there, are you?”

“I’m just _saying_ , all these factors come together to make it very difficult for boys like Clay to get into the top schools.” Boys like Clay. There is was again.

“Just be glad he’s not Asian,” his dad said nonchalantly going back to his phone.

Clay’s heart nearly popped out of his chest. “W-why’s that?” He tried his best to sound casual, failing miserably, though neither parent seemed to notice.

“Well,” his father began, not looking up from his screen. “There’s a well-known bias against Asian applicants in college admissions. They say it’s because Asian applicants don’t indicate diverse enough interests, but the real reason is that if there wasn’t a bias, Asian’s would make up the majority of the student populations at the top schools.” He looked up to give a smug smile to his wife. “In a way Clay actually benefits from affirmative action.”

His mom looked back in tired annoyance as Clay tried his best to hide the pink blush that had creeped across his face.

 

That night, like a boy possessed, Clay researched the extensive documentation of Asian intellectual supremacy. He thought how ironic it was that earlier in the day he had criticized that first text for not providing any solid evidence of its claim, yet here he was doing the work for it. No, he tried to explain to himself. He was looking for proof to refute the damn text. And sure, there were some politically correct articles arguing that it was dangerous to generalize a person’s intellectual capabilities based on their race — yet browsing through test results and scientific achievements appeared to confirm what Clay deep down knew to be true, what those two unprovoked events that day, the math test results and his own father’s affirmative action aside, had pointed to: Asians were simply smarter than white boys like him. With each new statistic and factoid, a steady stream of click-clicking went off, not entirely unpleasantly, in Clay’s mind.


	2. Reason 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay tries to get his life back on track after the first text, but is pulled back in. And just who else is receiving these texts?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story involves raceplay -- It is a sexual fantasy that centers on the idea of dom/sub relationships between people of different races because of their race. It is not meant to be a true commentary on race relations or race generally; it's just a fantasy. If it's not for you, I encourage you not to read. But if it is -- enjoy. Kudos and comments will let me know if there's enough interest to continue this.

A few days had passed since Clay got that first text. There wouldn’t be a couple of hours that would pass where he didn’t get some reminder of Asian intellect: an Asian completing a difficult math problem in class, the nightly news talking about how some Asian immigrant won a national science award (his mom unhelpfully muttering, “Well, there’s a full-ride to Harvard right there.”), a dumb white boy in the library with an Asian over his shoulder patiently trying to help him with homework. Clay felt like a trained dog — ears pricking and head swiveling towards any sign of Asian superiority. The clicking in his head was constant.

Eventually it began to stop bothering him. So what if they were smarter? He was still smart relative to the rest of the school, and he could still be content in that. Besides, Asians being smarter in no way led to the text’s conclusion that white boy should submit. That was ridiculous — a complete non sequitur. He reasoned that it was his pride before that had gotten him so upset when he first read that text, and that he shouldn’t take himself so seriously. If Asians were truly the smartest race, that was fine — it didn’t have to affect him at all.

 

He was feeling almost completely back to normal, when a buzz went off in his pocket on his way to fourth period. His friends or parents rarely texted him at school, but of course being a modern 16-year-old, his hand went immediately to fish out his phone. He had a sneaking suspicion of who it might be…

Sure enough on the locked home screen he could see a text from an unknown number starting with the words, “Hello again white boys! Did you miss me?”

Clay’s head shot up and he clutched his phone to his chest. He quickly looked around to see if anyone might have seen — as if anyone would be interested in the texts he got, or had super-human eyesight capable of reading a text from more than a few feet way. As usual, no one was paying attention to him.

There was a moment’s hesitation — for one brief instant he had the choice to simply ignore the message, to not go down this rabbit-hole again. But he knew deep down he was going to read it; his…sense of morbid curiosity, yes that was it…would force him to.

With one last look around his shoulder just to be safe, heart beating slightly faster now, he opened the text and read:

> “Hello again white boys! Did you miss me?
> 
> Of course you did. So I think you’ve all had enough time to convince yourself that Asians are the intellectually dominant race, right? Didn’t have to search too hard for the truth, I bet, did you?
> 
> Well without further ado, here’s is the second reason that I present for your kind consideration. I have a feeling you might resist this more than the last one, but I’m sure you’ll come to agree sooner than you might think:
> 
> White boys should submit to Asian Men, because Asian men are athletically superior.
> 
> See you around, whitey.”

Clay could feel that now-familiar heat rise around his neck. He read the text twice more. “See you around”…? Did that mean whoever was sending these texts was someone Clay had seen before? Someone from town? Get a grip, Clay thought. Probably nothing more than a casual sign-off. 

A voice startled him back into reality.

“Phones away, Mr. Jensen.” It was Mr. Porter, the school’s counselor, heading in the opposite direction down the hall. Clay tried his best to get the deer-in-headlights look off his face, but as he muttered and apology and shoved the phone back in his pocket he could see Mr. Porter eyeing him with a look of suspicion on his face. But really, how much trouble could sweet, innocent Clay Jensen really be in? Evidently the counselor didn’t think much, because he passed the boy without saying another word. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself Clay headed to history class.

 

But he just couldn’t focus as Mr. Weston droned on about the Depression of 1893. Once again, he couldn’t take his mind off that text. Because, ok, Asians were smarter. Fine. Everyone already knew that. But more athletic? That was laughable, wasn’t it? Clay could maybe see Black men being better at sports than whites, but how many Asians were there in the NFL? That one kicker from the Chargers? Maybe there were a handful over the years in basketball and baseball, but come on. The idea was ridiculous.

Yes, it was ridiculous, Clay thought, lips curving upwards to a smile. This whole thing was ridiculous. It was stupid and it was racist. He felt like a cloud had been lifted from the surface of his brain. If this mystery-sender’s goal was to get him to concede to Asian supremacy, he had severely overreached with this last text — and so soon in the game. Clay chuckled silently. No, it was time to move on from this temporary distraction. He tuned back in as Mr. Weston began addressing the Free Silver movement. 

 

Clay left the classroom with a smile plastered to his face. Walking into the brightly lit hallway was like waking from a troubling dream. His spirits were so high and he was paying so little attention that he nearly collided with Hannah Baker.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Hannah commented as Clay’s smile grew even wider upon their encounter. He’d been so distracted these last few days he had barely thought about his crush. And now here she was before him, beautiful as ever. 

“What’s not to feel good about? It’s a beautiful day, we live in the most peaceful era of humanity’s history, the Depression of 1893 ended like, more than a hundred years ago! Life his good.” He made her giggle and suddenly he was over the moon.

“Life is good,” she confirmed. “By the way, are you going to the basketball game tonight? Apparently they’re undefeated so far.”

Clay snorted; he and Hannah had been friends for a few months now so she knew what he thought about the jocks at the school who thought they owned the place. “I wasn’t planning on it, no.” Wait, why was Hannah asking him? Shit, did she want to go? With him? Even after the fiasco that was the winter dance? He decided to just go for it. “Uhh…were you?” Smooth, Clay.

“Well you know, I’d thought it be a good idea to keep up appearances. People start questioning my school spirit and then figure out my dark secret.”

“What’s the secret?” Clay was legitimately confused.

“That I’m a Russian spy,” Hannah deadpanned. “Obviously.” She was so weird. Clay loved it. “So what do you say, help me keep my cover?”

“Go to the game…with you?” Clay just needed to be absolutely clear on this point.

“Well, you, me and 500 of our closest friends.” They both looked around, laughing once realizing neither could even name a single person in the halls at this moment. 

“Ok, sure, I’ll probably be tried for treason, but why not? I’ll meet you outside the doors?”

“Perfect, it’s a date.” Hannah smiled and walked off, leaving Clay a melting heap of goop. A _date_. Oh yes, things were definitely looking up for Clay Jensen. 

 

Even in just faded jeans and a sweatshirt, she looked stunning. She gave him smile and small wave when she saw him approaching and he stole himself for a moment, trying to calm his nerves as his heart pounded in his chest. _Relax_ , he told himself. It’s just a basketball game.

“Ready to get your cheer on for the…Lions?”

“Tigers,” Clay laughed. She had to know it was Tigers after all these months. Right?

She smiled back. “Let’s find seats.”

 

The stands were a sea of navy blue, students chatting, laughing, and clapping at the cheerleaders’ pre-game show. It was so very…high school. So normal. Clay soaked it all in.

They took their seats pretty high up in the stands, away from the die-hard fans and closer to those who were most likely here ironically. Below them, the cheerleading team was trying what looked to be a new routine — lots of flipping and twirling. Clay guessed it was impressive; he had little else to compare it too.

He tried subtly glancing over at Hannah. She was watching the cheerleaders intently, almost as if she was trying to catch someone’s eye. When the routine was over, Clay got it. Jessica Davis, another sophomore, was beaming up to the crowd but when her eyes landed on Hannah’s she faltered. Clay watched the interaction, unsure what to do. Hannah gave a questioning smile and a tentative wave. Jessica looked as if she was trying to smile back — but it looked more like a grimace. She quickly turned away and joined the squad off the court.

Clay said nothing as Hannah’s shoulder’s slumped slightly, trying not to look upset. He knew it hadn’t been easy for her these first few months at Liberty. Jessica had been one of her first friends but now she barely acknowledged Hannah in the halls. Clay wasn’t sure of the whole story — something to do with Jessica dating their other mutual friend, Alex Standall. That was over anyway, since Alex had written the now-infamous best/worst list and Jessica started dating Justin — who had humiliated Hannah by sending that picture on the rocket slide around. The drama was enough to make Clay’s head spin, and he didn’t know why Hannah would still be interested in being friends with Jessica. But he supposed she could use all the friends she could get right now. She wasn’t on speaking terms with Courtney after Courtney had started that rumor of Hannah and Laura together at the dance. 

Just as he was about to say something, anything that might make her feel better, the crowd exploded in cheers. The basketball team ran out of the locker room into the gymnasium, back-slapping and chest-bumping each other. Boos and hisses mixed in with the cheers as the opposing team rushed in — and then the game was on.

Clay was never much into basketball, didn’t like the pacing, so instead he thought he’d do some people-watching. Across the court he could see Alex’s bleached-blond hair standing out like a sore thumb. He didn’t realize Alex was into sports, though maybe he was just here for Jessica. Right now, however, he looked to be paying pretty close attention to the game. 

Sitting nearby he saw Tony sitting with Ryan Shaver, editor of the “Lost and Found,” a school magazine. Since when had those two been friends? They were having some kind of conversation, Tony looking serious as usual, Ryan smiling broadly and playfully nudging into him. It was so nice Tony was so chill with a gay guy clearly flirting with him.

Then, awkwardly running up and down the sidelines was Tyler Down, the yearbook photographer, trying to capture as many shots of the game and the crowd as possible. He was an odd kid, quiet, maybe a bit obsessive, but Clay tried to be friendly towards him and he was always genial towards Clay. 

While the game was going on below, Hannah and Clay made small talk. They talked about classes and how their parents were constantly on their cases about school and college. They talked about television and music. They didn’t talk about Jessica or Alex or Justin or Courtney. They didn’t talk about the winter dance.

But as the game went on and they began running out of things to say, Clay began to pay more and more attention to the game. The Tigers were winning, unsurprisingly, but what was surprising to Clay at least was how they were winning.

Zach Dempsey was dominating the court.

With lay-up after dunk after three-point shots, Zach was running circles around the other boys. And then there was a familiar sinking feeling in hit gut as an unwanted thought intruded into his mind: He was running circles around the white boys especially. In his dribbling, in his pivoting and blocking, in his shots there was a pinpoint accuracy that gave Clay a strong sensation of vertigo. The crowd was whipping itself into a frenzy.

“Wow, Zach is awesome,” Hannah said, and the admiration in her voice made Clay’s chest clench.

“Uh yeah, he’s pretty good.” Clay desperately hope Hannah didn’t hear his voice crack.

“Better than Justin anyway,” she said somewhat unkindly. It was true. Justin was not having a good game. He looked distracted and had missed some fairly easy shots so far. At that moment he had the ball and was being blocked by two larger opponents. Zach was behind him on the three-point line. “Throw it to Dempsey!” Coach Patrick yelled from the sideline. Justin looked back but then tried to smash his way forward, wildly tossing the ball upward, which didn’t make it near to the net, and the other team gained possession with a groan from the crowd. At the next chance he got, a pissed-off Coach Patrick benched his captain.

“Maybe they should make Zach captain,” Hannah remarked cheerily.

Clay could only offer a lame “Hmm.” There was once again a tightness in his throat and the gymnasium had suddenly become way too hot. He glanced over at Alex to see whether he was reveling in Justin’s downfall. His face was inscrutable. Meanwhile below, Tyler was flushed and looked breathless as he furiously snapped shots what looked now to be only of Zach. 

It was only the fact that he didn’t want to walk out on Hannah that he stayed glued to his seat for the rest of the game. When the final buzzer rang, the bleachers erupted in cheers of “DEMP-SEY, DEMP-SEY” and the team huddled around Zack, hugging and high-fiving him. Clay saw Justin slink off to the locker room. He knew the feeling — Clay just really needed to get out of there.

“Hey, I was thinking maybe we could go to Rosie’s. Get a milkshake or something?” Hannah asked hopefully, but Clay could barely look her in the eyes.

“Uhh I think I’m just gonna head home. Have a paper to write.” They pushed their way down the bleachers and Clay silently cursed how slow students were to leave the gym.

“But it’s a Friday…”

“I know but I should’ve started it sooner and it’s gonna be a pain to write. Raincheck?”

“Sure, I guess.” Clay hated himself for the disappointment he heard in her voice, but he couldn’t be there, with her, with everyone raving about how flawlessly Zach performed. As soon as the way was clear, he shot Hannah a hasty goodbye and ran out of the school to his bike.

Maybe he had been rash in dismissing the second text’s claims so out of hand. There was something in the way that Zach played tonight that was…masterful. It was as if Zach was just wired in a different way from the other players.

A thought abruptly burst into his head about another athlete who was supposed to be “wired differently.” He recalled last summer watching the Rio Olympics with his parents, specifically the prime time men’s 100 metre butterfly. The race was supposed to be the conclusion to the epic rivalry of Clay’s hero Michael Phelps and South African swimmer Chad le Clos. Instead an upstart Singaporean, Joseph Schooling, a full decade Phelps’ junior, snatch the gold and Phelps, le Clos and Hungarian Laslo Cseh had a bizarre three-way tie for second.

Clay could now recall vividly, olive-skinned Schooling beaming on the highest step of the podium as the three more-experienced white swimmers had to stand below him on the next tier listening patiently as the Singaporean national anthem played. Clay had felt so embarrassed while watching and he could again feel the shame of that night. 

Then an image that Clay could only think of as alien flashed before him. Schooling and Phelps were in some off-stage holding area standing face-to-face, Phelps almost a half-foot taller. Then slowly, Phelps drops to his knees before the younger smiling Asian and — “No!” Clay actually shouted. He looked around to make sure no one heard him. How could he picture something like that happening to his hero. He felt sick.

But the memory of that race had brought up another from that Olympics. He unlocked his bike, hopped on, and raced home.

 

Justin banged his fist against the lockers. What was _wrong_ with him. He had by far his worst game of season. Was benched little more than half-way through. Him, the team’s captain — benched. He was the first junior captain in years; he and Zach had made varsity as sophomores and Coach thought having a captain that could serve for two years would give the team a sense of continuity. Plus Justin was well-liked and respected by the others. Now he knew Coach Patrick was wondering right now whether he’d made a mistake — whether he chose the wrong junior for captain.

His head just wasn’t in the game. There had been that math test he tanked earlier in the week, and things at home with his mom and Seth had just been…bad. 

And then there was those _fucking texts_.

It was bad enough just reading the garbage they said but then it was almost as if they were planned so that Justin would read them when they would have maximum impact. The first text came on the day he bombed that math exam and saw that Zach had aced it. And this last one had come on the day of the big game, totally getting in his head. Of course it hadn’t helped that Zach had played like a monster too. God, he just needed to get out of here.

He went over to his locker and grabbed his stuff. He saw he had a text from Jessica: “Hey. Don’t worry about it. Coach Patrick was being a dick.” He had to smile. Least there was still one good thing in all this shit. Justin had only been dating Jessica for a few weeks now, but he knew she was good for him. Made him feel wanted and important. Course her text was complete bullshit — Coach had every right to bench him for his shitty performance. He sighed.

After a beat, Justin could hear the the chants had now died down, could hear his other teammates laughter and whooping making its way closer to the locker room doors. He grabbed the rest of his belongings and made a beeline for the last exit. He could shower at home. He couldn’t share in the excitement of a victory he didn’t feel was his and really didn’t want to be face-to-face with any of them right now. Especially not Zach.

 

Tyler got home out of breathe, raced past his parents asking how the game went with a quick, “Fine, we won,” and headed into his room, slamming the door behind him. He put his camera down and sat quietly on his bed, breathe still ragged, thinking.

He didn’t know what had come over him at the game. He had taking shots of the action and the crowds when he noticed how well Zach Dempsey was playing — and then he was like a boy possessed. He just kept taking photo after photo of the muscular athlete. Jenna, the yearbook editor-in-chief was going to kill him. Well maybe he had enough good shots from the beginning of the game and just wouldn’t mention what had happened with the rest of the film.

But beyond the wasted film, something else was now bothering him: He was incredibly, painfully hard. 

He shifted on his bed, wincing as a jolt of arousal spread from his groin, not daring to touch himself. What the hell was wrong with him? Sure, he had always been a pretty horny boy — hence the stalking and peeping-tom-ing of some of the girls in his class. He felt a burn of shame remembering how just a few weeks ago, Hannah Baker had caught him outside of her bedroom window. 

But now he was getting hard over Zach? He wasn’t gay. He never thought about guys in that way before. No. He was getting hard over the pure power and energy he had witnessed from Zach tonight. It was enough to get anyone excited.

He briefly considered sneaking out with his camera again. Try to catch Zach in his home. Witness more masculine perfection. But Zach was probably out celebrating with friends. And anyway, if he caught him, Zach would likely beat the shit out of him. His dick jumped in his pants.

He absent-mindedly pulled his phone from his pants pocket and reread that message he got earlier today: “Asian men are athletically superior.” Well after tonight’s performance, call him convinced. 

Tyler was initially unnerved by the stranger’s texts — thought it was some asshole trying to mess with him. He had ignored them.

Now his curiosity was peaked and he couldn’t help but wonder when the next text would come.

 

When Clay got home, his mother was reading some case briefs in the living room. “Home so soon?”

“Uh yeah, the game just ended,” Clay said, panting.

“Oh, I just thought you might’ve wanted to go out with friends after.” It was so typical for his mom to demand that he focus on schoolwork and then turn around and demand he have a thriving social life. He bit his tongue. 

“I was just really tired,” he lied weakly. “Long day, think I’m just gonna read a little and head to bed.

“Alright, sweetie. Good night.”

 

He got to his bedroom and closed the door as quietly behind him as possible, then went over to his computer and began searching.

It was a warm summer day. Clay was heading out to kick around a soccer ball with Tony at the park. His mom was home sick from the office watching men’s diving — likely just an excuse to ogle fit guys in speedos. Yes, here it was. 

He found footage of the men’s synchronized 10m and as he watched he could feel goosebumps begin to cover his body. The Chinese divers Chen Aisen and Lin Yue were not only in the lead throughout, they were _dominating_ their white competitors. Clay watched, mouth slightly opened as the duo nailed dive after dive, watched the other white competitors as they could only look on in awe and despair.

The agility. The focus. The accuracy. He thought back to Zach’s commanding performance earlier and a thought dawned on him. Maybe the second text was just a corollary of the first. Maybe the Asians could dominate athletics _because_ of their superior intellect. It made perfect sense. As sports were evolving to become more about strategy and skill than about brute force, Clay suspected we would see more Asians in positions of Athletic leadership. He could easily picture now a horde of hulking white men huddled around their sinewy Asian quarterback, hanging on his every word for the next brilliantly crafted play. 

When all was said and done in diving, the Chinese had crushed their American rivals by almost 40 points, thrashed the British by more than 50. Clay needed to see more. He watched the Japanese conquer men’s gymnastics, the Koreans prevail in archery. It was nearly 2 in the morning when he figured he had seen all the proof he needed.

On a whim, before heading to bed he took a look at where the next few Games were to be held and was amused to find how unsurprised he was at the answer. Pyeongchang 2018. Tokyo 2020. Beijing 2022. Clay suspected the U.S. was about to see even more athletic greatness from the East in the years ahead. The future of sport really was Asian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to hear comments and suggestions!


	3. Reason 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The texts continue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this story contains elements of raceplay.

Clay spent the rest of the weekend watching youtube clips of Asian athletes. His parents thought he was writing a paper. It was strange, but he found that once the initial shock of Zach’s basketball performance had worn off, he was left with only a sense of awe. He wasn’t quite sure where these feelings came from but he just found their intense focus breathtaking. It was almost hypnotic.  


Coming back to school on Monday, Clay didn’t feel as distracted as he did by the first text. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t a natural athlete to begin with so there wasn’t the same anxiety over having his pride hurt knowing others were better than him. He was more comfortable ceding athletic dominance to Asian men; who cares if assholes like Justin Foley and Bryce Walker had to grapple with the truth of their inferiority?  


Once again he rationalized that just because he might acknowledge that Asians were naturally better at certain things, that didn’t mean his life had to change any — didn’t mean he should “submit.” The texts were silly, still most likely some pervy guy’s (or girl’s, Clay thought; some chicks were into guy-on-guy stuff) fantasy. But, Clay now thought, maybe there was something just slightly educational about the text, mixed in with the perversion.  


He looked around the halls, realizing how few Asians he actually knew by name. He wouldn’t say he was friends with any of them, and somewhere deep in the back of his head, he sort of wished he was. Sort of wished he was close to at least one. Wanted to learn what their lives were like.

It wasn’t until the middle of the week that the next text came. Clay woke up to it already on his phone, and sure, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. It still freaked him out that he was basically the victim of sexual harassment. But his reaction wasn’t nearly as strong as it was when he got that second text. And his curiosity — more urgent this time — outweighed the voice pleading in his head to ignore the text — to delete it without opening.  


Instead he opened the messenger app on his phone to find this long message:

> Back for more white boys? Of course you are. You’re beginning to see some truth to my messages, aren’t you?  
> 
> 
> Well I’ve got some more truth for you. Reason #3: White boys should submit to Asian men because Asia is on the rise.  
> 
> 
> Asia’s shining cities are growing faster than the West’s. Its technology is outpacing the West’s. Its economies and militaries are expanding at rapid pace. Soon Western society will be nothing more than a plaything in Asia’s backyard — existing only at the mercy of their Eastern overlords.  
> 
> 
> And the Asians who live in the West — they will serve as cultural ambassadors spreading the gospel of Asian supremacy. They’re the closest things white boys like you will get to the splendor of Asia. They will demand your respect and obedience. But you’re already on your way to understanding this, aren’t you, white boy?  
>  Welcome to the Asian century.

Clay blinked at his screen a few times. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to read in the text, if he was expecting anything at all — but it definitely wasn’t this. This was…dark. A world dominated by Asia? Clay practically shuddered at the thought.  
And anyway, it was ridiculous, wasn’t it? The U.S. had always dominated world affairs. That’s what he’d been taught in school after all. We had the dominant economy, the dominant military, the dominant culture.  


‘Had being the operative word,’ a voice from the back of Clay’s head whispered. He recalled last summer when an annoying aunt had returned from a trip across Asia. She spoke so enthusiastically of the gleaming, towering skylines of Hong Kong and Shanghai, the sleek bullet trains that whisked her across Japan, the immaculate streets of Seoul. “And cranes everywhere,” she had said. “They just keep building more and more, up and up and up.”  


At the time, Clay thought she was just bragging about her extended vacation, saw his mother roll her eyes when her sister wasn’t looking. Now he wondered exactly how much was truth and how much was exaggeration. He feared there was much more of the former than the latter.  


His mother’s voice calling him for breakfast pushed him out of his reveries. He wouldn’t let this text drive him nuts again. He couldn’t keep going through this roller coaster of anxiety. So what if Asia was doing well for itself, was able to provide more for its people? Good for them. It wasn’t like it was a competition. A rising tide lifts all ships — an expression his dad liked to say. No, Asia’s supposed rise, if rising it was, didn’t have to concern Clay one bit.

***************************************************************************

And sure, once he was back, walking the halls of his school, it was easy to tell himself he felt perfectly normal - wasn’t concerned by the text, wasn’t concerned about Asian men. But then somewhere deep in the crevices of his mind, he must’ve noticed how he slowed down when passing a group of dark-eyed Asians talking in hushed tones by their lockers. How he lingered, just for one brief moment - trying to catch a hint of what they were saying. What was it he hoped to hear? Some pearls of wisdom that he’d subconsciously come to expect were in their grasps. Or perhaps plotting - making plans for a new world that would soon be theirs.  


No, no. Clay shoved the thought back down. None of that, not today, he thought as he tried to place the feeling that now made the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. Fear? Anxiety? Exhilaration?

In Introduction to Economics - an elective Clay took at the behest of his mother - they were talking about how national GDP was calculated. Projected onto the screen at the front of the class was a ranking of countries with the highest GDPs. Clay was relieved to see the U.S. on top. He could relax as Mr. Wilson droned on about Pareto efficiency. Or at least he thought he could until…  


“Yes, Mr. Standall?”  


Clay turned back to look at the slight blond boy sitting in the back of the class as his hand went down. Alex rarely spoke up in class; Clay didn’t think he’d heard the boy speak once since the whole drama with Jessica.  


“So the U.S. has the largest GDP but China’s economy is growing faster?” Clay’s heart jumped in his throat. What was Alex playing at? Why now?  


“That’s correct, Alex. China’s economy has been growing steadily at a rate around 7% annually, while the U.S.’s growth has been closer to 2%.”  


“So eventually, China’s economy will be bigger than ours?”  


“Well who knows what the future will bring, but if things keep going the way they are, then yes, China’s economy will soon eclipse our own. In fact,” Mr. Wilson grew more animated now as Clay sunk further into his seat, “I’m glad you brought that up because under some measurements, China is already ahead.” He quickly switched out the current rankings he had projected with one showing China on top. “This is GDP PPP, which stands for purchasing power parity, and what this shows is GDP adjusted by the purchasing power of the nation’s currency, or how much an equal amount of currency can purchase in each country respectively. A lot of economist think this is a more useful measure of a nation’s wealth.” He went on for a bit more about purchasing power, and then asked Alex whether he had anymore questions.  


“No, thanks. Sounds like pretty soon, we’ll all be speaking Mandarin.” There was something in his voice, a certain meanness, but whatever it was seemed to be lost on Mr. Wilson who just chuckled.  


“Well, I certainly don’t think it’s a bad idea to start learning. Could come in handy.” And with that he continued with his lesson. The list with China on top stayed on the projection screen for the rest of the class.

Clay left the classroom once again in a daze. It was like the universe was intent on shoving proof of Asian superiority in his face, exactly as these texts had said. Or was it just that he was noticing these truths more now? It didn’t matter. Clay knew at this point how this would play out: He’d go home to his computer, ostensibly to try to find evidence to refute the text’s perverse claims, only to find yet more confirmation of its fundamental truth. He’d go to bed demoralized and wake up in the morning feeling slightly better, having suppressed the feelings of inferiority during the night. But he was beginning to wonder how much longer things could continue this way.

**************************************************************************************

Later that day, Alex got home after school, went up to his room and slammed the door. He felt so angry all the time now. He had lost so much in these past few months all because of that stupid best/worst list and now all he had was Bryce Walker and his dumbass gang of friends. Even things at home were going south. His dad was practically never around and then when he was, he was constantly on Alex’s case about his grades, his extracurriculars, his love-life, or whatever else he could think of to criticize his youngest son. And the comparisons with his older brother, Peter, were endless. He was tired of hearing about how many sports Peter excelled in or how many girls he got. Could his dad for one second focus on him when he was so obviously depressed?  


And so that’s why he now found the semi-weekly texts he got from this mystery stranger to be somewhat of a reprieve from the painful monotony of his life. When he first received them he figured it was someone trying to play a sick joke on him, kick him when he was down. But now he almost enjoyed getting them. His dad, brother, and pretty much everyone else around him were all such macho, patriotic men. And truth be told, his dad was not the most racially sensitive guy. The idea of white guys submitting to Asian men would drive him absolutely crazy. So it was with that in mind when he asked Mr. Wilson those questions about China earlier. He knew his dad would have a conniption if he heard Alex talking like that, and even if his dad would never find out, it felt like a small victory to take his country - and indirectly, his race - down a peg. And who knew? Perhaps someone else in the class was receiving these texts as well and would get his deeper intent.  


He was tempted to write back to the mystery messenger to see who else he was targeting, just so he could fuck with them to make himself feel, if in one fleeting moment, powerful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait and the relatively short chapter. I promise sexy times are coming. Comments and kudos are appreciated!


	4. Reason 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The texts continue as Clay learns a history lesson and Justin visits college.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mature themes and strong raceplay. You know the drill.

Clay sat at his desk in his room thinking about what he would write for the paper Mr. Weston had assigned. It was supposed to be an in-depth essay on one aspect of post-Civil War nineteenth century America. It was a maddeningly broad topic meant to close out the unit before the class turned to the Progressive Era, and Clay struggled to think of an issue that was most likely to impress and least likely to be taken by someone else. Mr. Weston had already given them ideas: Reconstruction politics, northern migration of freed slaves, technological advances like the transcontinental railroad. Clay couldn’t help but to roll his eyes over the last one. Ever since getting the third text about a week ago, he was developing a deep skepticism over the achievements of America and the West. Whatever we were able to do - in thoughts that Clay tried but failed to suppress - some Asian country was probably doing it better and more efficiently.

Clay was flipping through his textbook for some ideas when his eyes shot to the screen of his cell phone laying to the right of him and felt goosebumps cover his body before his brain could process why. But the reason soon became apparent: It was a text from an unknown number and Clay knew who it had to be from. Not wanting to delay the inevitable, Clay snatched the phone up and opened the message.

>   
>  Your training’s coming along nicely white boys. I know some of you refuse to believe that, but I’ve noticed the cracks beginning to appear in your fragile psyches. 
> 
> Without further ado, Reason #4:
> 
> White boys should submit to Asian Men to atone for the white race’s sins.
> 
> Throughout history, white boys pretending to be men have raped, pillaged and stole their way to power and once in power have led the world towards violence and chaos, all the while using their numbers to subjugate and oppress non-whites in order to hide the truth of their own inferiority. 
> 
> Well it’s time to stop hiding. White boys need to submit to Asian Men because they deserve to be punished for their brutal histories.
> 
> Repent, white boys. 

Clay felt his face grow hot and his stomach drop as he read the message. Truth be told, he was kind of expecting one of the reasons to focus on white guilt, what with the Black Lives Matter movement and college protests on racism around the country. And sure, Clay was reasonable, or at the very least not blind to history. He could admit that white America had mistreated minorities and that colonialism and slavery and systemic racism were all wrong and should be consigned to the past. But the solution for racism was to not be a racist - not bowing down to another race.

And anyway, why Asians? If anything, whites had surely mistreated Africans the worst. While he was sure Asians and Asian-Americans faced their share of discrimination, surely it wasn’t comparable to slavery and Jim Crow. In fact Clay wasn’t really sure what hardships Asians in America had faced historically. He supposed he never really thought about it. 

Then it hit him. He’d right about American-Asian relations for his history paper. Surely no one else was going to write about that and Mr. Weston would be impressed with his originality. And at the same time, he could assuage his curiosity spurred on by the text.

He set out to work.

***

Justin was so glad to get out of town and away from Liberty High. Things at home were awful, his grades weren’t getting better, his relationship with Jessica was in a perpetual state of rockiness, and his performance on the basketball court was still lacking.

And so he was especially relieved to step foot onto the bucolic campus of Riverdale College and breath in the fresh air. He was here to tour the school and was staying with a friend, Josh, who just graduated Liberty High last year and was now a freshman on the basketball team at R.C. 

The college had a pretty good basketball program, and, if Justin was being honest with himself, was probably one of the better ones that would still consider giving him a scholarship after his lousy performance this year. Josh had taken him around to see the recently renovated team facilities and meet with a couple of guys on the team and two of the assistant coaches, who seemed enthusiastic enough and ensured him that they’d have their scouts look out for him.

Things were looking up, Justin thought to himself as he and Josh drank milkshakes in a popular diner near campus, while the freshman regaled him of the college parties he’d gone too, and the college girl’s he’d gotten lucky with - although Justin remembered how much the older boy could exaggerate. 

Just as Josh was getting into the drunken details of a recent escapade, the two boys heard yelling from down the street. Stretching his head to look out the window, Justin saw a crowd of protestors marching down the street towards the diner. As they drew closer, Justin could begin to make out what the crowd was saying: slogans like “Hands up, don’t shoot,” and “No justice, No peace.”

“Ah yea, Black Lives Matter protestors. They do this every week,” started Josh. “But they’re harmless. They yell themselves tired, then go home.”

The crowd consisted mainly of black and latino students, but there were a few whites in the crowd as well. Just as they began to pass directly in front of the diner, Justin saw something which made him do a double take. In the crowd were three boys, shirtless despite the fact that it must have been in the low 40s outside. The shortest and skinniest of the boys had lily white skin and a crop of raven black hair sticking out from a knitted crowned beanie. The second taller boy had dark brown hair meticulously slicked back in a side part. The two boys weren’t shouting along but instead had somewhat vacant smiles plastered on their faces and were holding signs that read “End White Supremacy” and “Whites Pay Reparations Now.” 

Still more striking however was the third boy in the middle, who was one of the most ripped guys Justin had ever seen. He had an astoundingly handsome face with a strong, square jawline and a shock of perfectly coiffed red hair. He wasn’t holding a sign and Justin realized that his muscles were bulging because perched on top of his shoulders was another boy - nearly as big as the redhead beneath him. This boy, no - man, Justin subconsciously corrected himself, was fully dressed and seemed to be enjoying the ride. Even from a distance, Justin could make out the distinctively sharp Asian features of the man atop the ginger. His smooth, chiseled face smirked out above the crowd while the white boy beneath him struggled the maintain the weight of his friend, who looked to be nearly just as muscular in his own right. The ginger’s body glistened with a thin coat of sweat though all the while a grimacing smile never left his face. Justin thought he felt something within him stir just below his stomach.

Then for the briefest of moments, the eyes of the Asian man caught Justin’s through the diner window. They were black as coal, and as if the glare had burned him, Justin tore his eyes away. Josh was giving him a strange look and had a slight blush on his face. Softly, almost embarrassedly he said, “Yeah, college changes some people.”

 _Yeah, college_ , Justin thought, as Josh quickly changed the subject back to his sexual conquests. But for the rest of their outing, Justin couldn’t focus on anything his friend said, thinking back to the boys surrounding their elevated Asian friend, and the text from a stranger unwantingly received earlier that morning.

***

Alex found himself back in his room, door slammed shut. He had just had another fight with his dad and brother - this time over the president. “I just think he’s right about keeping refugees out. We have no idea who these people are whether or not they want to harm us. Look what’s happening in Europe!” his dad had said. “Or put them in camps until we figure out who they really are,” his brother, Peter, chimed in. Worked during World War II with the Japanese.”  
Had Alex not left the table that instant, he would have been screaming about how they’d like it if they were ripped from their homes and locked away for no reason. Now he almost wished it would happen to them, but instead of camps, they’d be put in cages, barely large enough to stand in - guarded over by a descendant of a Japanese family who faced the humiliation of the internment camps. As he pictured this, he felt a raw energy surge in his chest. _Soon they’d pay_ , he thought bitterly and conspiratorially. _Soon they’d all pay_.

***

Tyler was furiously masturbating in his room. He had just come back from a medical physical. His physician, Dr. Hong, was a handsome young Asian man, and it was all Tyler could do not to pop a boner while the doctor listened through his stethoscope to Tyler’s racing heartbeat and ragged breathing. Then when he asked Tyler to stand and lower his pants, the boy had turned bright red. Though he had begun to chub up, his small penis was still only about an inch long. He could see Dr. Hong suppress a laugh as he told him to turn his head and cough.

In that moment, the humiliation made his dick shrink to its fully flaccid form, but now in the privacy of his bedroom, he had never felt hornier. Gone were his inhibitions over jerking off to a man. Maybe he was gay, or maybe he was just so turned on over being humiliated in front of a big, strong asian man. _Oh yes, punish me_ , Tyler thought, picturing Dr. Hong pulling the boy up over his lap for a spanking. _Punish me for being the weak, white wimp I am_.

*** 

Two days later, Clay beamed at his computer screen, finally having finished his paper. It was he believed, the best essay he’d ever written. He was even proud of the title: “Sinophobia in Late Nineteenth Century America.” Who knew just how terribly the Chinese immigrants had been treated? From the fatally harsh conditions working on the transcontinental railroad (of course that’s how the U.S. had pulled it off), to the grotesquely discriminatory Chinese Exclusion Act.

He pressed print on what he thought for sure would be an ‘A’ paper, and decided he had time to reward himself before bed. So, glancing behind him to make sure the door was firmly shut tight, he opened the web browser and turned to his favorite porn site. What to watch? He scanned through the categories and then, pausing only for a moment, clicked the “Asian” link. But this brought him mainly to videos of white guys fucking Asian chicks, and for some reason he didn’t quite understand yet, it just completely put him off. Instead he decided to click in to the search bar at the top of the browser and type, “Asian man, white woman porn.” And then he pretended to himself that he was getting so turned on by the slutty white chick’s moans and not from the sinewy, olive toned physique and cocky mien of the Asian man above her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another short chapter and the wait. Also sorry for the politics and shameless random Riverdale x-over. As always kudos and comments are my lifeblood. Happy New Year!


	5. Reason 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The texts get personal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story contains race play and sex among teenage characters.

It had been several days since Clay had turned in his paper, and all in all he was feeling pretty good. Perhaps it was his reintroduction to porn - his wastepaper basket was once again overflowing with crumpled-up tissues as he would jack off often multiple times a day watching muscular Asian men fuck skinny white girls, who seemed to love it - but of course they would; they were porn stars. Something about the contrast in skin tone enraptured Clay.

And then at school, Clay noticed subtle changes within himself. He would go just a tad out of his way to hold the door open for an Asian student, or quickly move out of the way when crossing paths with one in the hall, bowing his head ever so slightly. Not so much that anyone would notice anything out of the ordinary, but for some reason it felt good to Clay. It felt good to be respectful to those Clay now knew had struggled to belong in this country, and struggled largely against Clay’s ancestors and their ilk. So maybe the text weren’t so bad after all. Sure they were sick and perverted, and no, Clay had no intention of “serving Asian Men.” But they were, in a way, educational. They peaked Clay’s curiosity for another culture and peoples and he was beginning to have a newfound appreciation for the Asian race. What was wrong with that?

After history class, Mr. Weston pulled him aside. “Clay, I finished grading your paper earlier this morning, and I just wanted to say how wonderful I found it. Such an interesting topic and you went so deeply into it. I’m even thinking of assigning it as reading for next year’s class.”

Clay felt himself turning red and tried not to look so pleased with himself. “Wow, Mr. Weston. Thanks so much! I really enjoyed writing it.” It was the truth, after all.

“Well I know it’s still early for sophomores to think about these kind of things, but if you ever need a recommendation for college or whatever, I’d be happy to write one for you. You’ve been a terrific student.”

“Thanks so much Mr. Weston,” Clay repeated. “I’ve been thinking that I probably want to study history in college,” and then after a beat, “and East Asian studies.” At that. Mr. Weston gave him a look of mild surprise. Clay too had surprised himself - he hadn’t given thought to pursuing his new fascination with the Asian race and culture in a more formal setting - but now that he had said it aloud, it seemed a perfectly sensible option.

For what it was worth, Mr. Weston agreed, “Well I’m impressed you’ve already put some thought into this. That could end up becoming quite useful in the future.”

**

Learning of his success on the paper, Clay was feeling ebullient on his way to Communications class. Walking into the classroom, he beamed a smile at Hannah and took his seat waiting for Ms. Bradley to begin whatever silly exercise she had thought up for the day’s lesson.

Then he felt the buzz in his pocket. Even though class hadn’t really started yet, he surreptitiously dug the phone out of his jeans to see who had texted him. Unknown number, which could only mean one person. Did he really want to kill his good vibe now? But then he knew if he didn’t read now, it would just keep nagging him throughout the whole class. Best to bite the bullet. 

So from under his desk he read:

>   
>  “Becoming addicted to these texts, aren’t you, white boys?
> 
> I’ll cut to the chase.
> 
> Reason # 5:
> 
> White boys should submit to Asian Men because their women are turning to Asian Men. Every day more and more white women discover the pleasures of taking an Asian lover - how much more satisfying and virile they are than their limp dick, white boy husbands and boyfriends. 
> 
> Soon there’ll be no women left for the white boy, so he might as well join his woman in worshiping the Asian Man.
> 
> You’re obsolete, white boy. Submit.”  
> 

Clay once again felt his face turning red, and tried to calm his now racing heart before anyone noticed anything out of the ordinary. Just ignore it, he thought, as Ms. Bradley finally began the class.

But of course, he couldn’t focus on anything else. Those other texts - sure they had been bad enough. But they hadn’t seemed as…personal as this latest assailment. Yes, maybe he wasn’t a lady’s man, but there were some white boys - _some white men_ , he corrected himself - who were. Justin was dating Jessica and had something going on with Hannah right when she moved into town, though of course, that ended in disaster. And then there was Bryce Walker who never seemed to lack for…female company. If the rumors were true, anyway.

And Clay could maybe, someday, possibly ask Hannah out. Valentine’s Day was coming up and Jeff had been bugging him to find himself a date. He could ask her out if only to prove to himself the ludicrousness of this text.

He winced as he heard Hannah chuckle at a joke Zach had made at the expense of that idiot boy Pratters.

When class ended, he packed up his things and turned to talk to Hannah but the girl had already headed over to check her compliment bag. He lingered for a moment just to see her reaction to the bunny drawing he had left there for her. 

And then Zach walked up. Clay couldn’t exactly pick up what they were saying but, well, this was Communications class - anyone could pick up the body language signs revealing these two were hard core flirting with each other - the smiles, the giggling. 

Clay started to feel queasy. How could this be happening, right now? On the one hand, it wasn’t a complete shock. No one needed to tell Clay that Hannah was pretty, and everyone knew Zach was one of the most popular guys in school. Why shouldn’t they like each other? But Zach could have any girl in the school. Why pick the girl Clay had his eyes on since the summer? Why now, after this damn text? Clay slinked away before either noticed him lurking.

**

Valentine’s day was finally here, and Clay still hadn’t gotten up the nerve to ask Hannah out - even though she was his top match on Dollar Valentines. As he stood against the candy counter in the Cressmont, nervously doodling while Hannah stood mere feet away, he knew this would be his last chance to ask - that is, if she didn’t already have a date. If only he could find out whether he was on her list too.

“Yo, Picasso.” Clay turned around. Even in her maroon vest and bow tie she was so pretty. “You resting up for a big date tonight, or something?”

 _Yea, with you_. Come on Clay, just grow some balls and say it.

“Me? No.” God, he was a loser.

“What about Dollar Valentine?”

_Funny you should ask, Hannah, my sweet. You were actually on the top of my list._

“I, umm, I didn’t really do it.” He really was an idiot, but since she didn’t call him out on his lie, he had his answer - he wasn’t on Hannah’s list. “What uhh,” Clay tried to sound casual. “What about you? Did you…?”

“Yep, well uh…you know my motto: No cheerleader left behind.” He forced a laugh. He knew he had to ask.

“Get any good matches?” Please God in heaven, if you exist, please let her not have matched with Zach.

“Not one.” Clay’s body deflated in relief. Then she scoffed, “I got Bryce Walker.”

He had to scoff back. “Holy shit, really? Either you made a serious error in the ‘who I’m looking for’ section, or that algorithm is messed up.” Yes, he realized he was hoping either was to case, to explain why they weren’t matched, even though he knew it was just a stupid gimmick.

She laughed. “Probably both. I’m always looking for the wrong person.”

 _Look HERE! I’m right here and I’m the right person!_ But maybe he gave himself too much credit. Maybe - and now it was a voice in his head that he had tried to keep buried - maybe, he knew deep down that he didn’t deserve Hannah. That she was better off with someone like Zach.

“You know I did get a call from Marcus Cole though. He said I was on his list.”

Clay’s heart half sunk. Marcus Cole? Well at least he wasn’t Asian so that was…something?

“Are you gonna go out with him?” Clay tried to keep the panic from his voice.

“Well he’s not my first choice…” She’s giving you an opening! Go for it! But he froze. He always froze. 

And then Jeff came in with his date and ruined everything by letting slip that Clay did in fact do a Dollar Valentine. Hannah was hurt that he had lied to her and went off to call Marcus to tell him the date was on. And that was that. Happy Valentine’s Day to Clay.

**

Or it would’ve been, but Tony walked into the Cressmont 10 minutes before Clays shift was ending. 

“What a way to spend Valentine’s Day,” the shorter boy commiserated. “Watching couples come to see the latest awful rom-com while you serve them candy and soda. Hope you at least have plans for later.”

“Got a real hot date with my right hand tonight.” It was crude - Clay didn’t talk about such things, but what the hell, he was angry with himself for blowing it so badly.

Tony raised an eyebrow for a second, but, hearing the pain in Clay’s voice, continued: “Come on, why don’t you and I do something. I’ve got nothing planned either. We could go to Rosie’s and get some milk shakes and laugh at all the dumb couples who couldn't find a place better to go than a diner. Say a big ‘fuck you’ to this stupid, made up holiday.”

Tony waited for Clay'd shift to end and then they drove off in his truck. Along the way, the floodgates opened and Clay ended up telling him about his major fuck-up with Hannah. All the while, Tony listened without saying much. They didn’t typically talk about girls, Tony always seemed to change the subject, but Clay was glad he was listening now. He didn’t need anyone giving him advice. He knew he was being a pussy, knew he needed to man up. He just wanted someone to talk to right now, and there was no better person than Tony.

They pulled up into the diner’s parking lot and Tony found a spot up front. Just as Clay was undoing his seat belt, he heard Tony whisper, “Oh shit.”

“What? Forgot cash? Don’t worry, I’ll cover you.”

“No, it’s not that,” he said demurely. Apologetically. “Hannah’s here.”

Clays head shot up to the windows, scanning to see her. “With Marcus? Crap. Where?” He felt like a glutton for pain.

“Uh, she’s not with Marcus. It looks like…Zach Dempsey.”

Clay felt his head go blank and his breathing stop. He spotted them. From where Clay sat, Hannah’s face was partially obscured by the window frame, but there was no doubt it was her. And there was no doubt that across from her was Zach Dempsey who was just now reaching out to grasp her hand. Clay looked away. He couldn’t deal with this right now.

“I’m sorry, Clay,” Tony started quickly, “I didn’t know—” 

“Just. Take me home. Please.” He was defeated. He knew it, and now Tony knew it. They drove off in silence.

**

Tony tried to apologize again as Clay got out of the car. Clay by now had the good graces to tell him not to worry about it - that it wasn’t his fault. The two friends left each other with awkward good-byes.

Clay entered the house and raced straight up the stairs. He was near tears and in no way did he want to talk with either of his parents right now. 

He got to his room and quietly shut the door so as to not notify the folks of his arrival home, and went to his computer desk. He took a few deep breaths and half-heartedly tried to stop doing what he was about to do. He got the idea in Tony’s car on the way back, and while it was perverse, he couldn’t get it out of his head.

He started searching on his browser, and after a few minutes got what looked to be a promising link: “Asian guy CUCKS White guy AMWF.” He hesitated only a moment, then clicked the link, and unbuttoned his pants.

And while tears pricked his eyes, he was still incredibly hard over what was maybe the hottest porn he’d seen so far: an arrogant white guy with a Stanford hoodie forced to watch as the hot Asian pool boy took his slutty girlfriend right in front of him. Clay blew his loads in minutes, and then, panting, he crawled into bed and started to sob.

**

It was two days after Valentine’s and Justin was frantically trying to reach Jessica. He felt like a psychopath; he must’ve left three voicemails on her phone and a dozen text messages. Why wasn’t she answering!?

Well, Justin could take a wild guess. Valentine’s day had been more or less a train wreck. Dinner had been fine enough, but then Jessica was feeling frisky and wanted to fool around for the first time since they started dating. Who was Justin to say no? 

So they left for Justin’s apartment but once there, the boy realized he’d made a terrible mistake. His mom had chosen today of all days to go through one of her withdrawals and Justin turned red and muttered an apology as the two sneaked in and could immediately hear the moaning.

Justin dragged Jessica to his room, thinking that it would be fine once he could shut the door behind them, so long as they were quiet. But he could still hear his sick mother's cries. When the two started making out on his bed, he desperately tried to get hard for her, but was too anxious and distracted. He slapped her hand away when she went to put it down his pants and told her it wasn’t going to work out tonight and she should just leave - which she did in a huff.

They hadn’t spoken since that night and now Justin was worried they were over. He just needed to talk with her, but where the _fuck_ was she? 

He just had come from her house where her militant father, looking as disapprovingly as ever, told him she was out with friends. When he asked, in perhaps not the politest of tones, “ _Which friends?_ ” he got the door unceremoniously slammed in his face. Great.

He walked down to the sidewalk, not knowing which way to turn, when finally a text popped up on his phone. 

“At Zach’s. Chill.”

Perhaps the dad, feeling sorry for him, had texted his daughter telling her to text the poor boy. Well, whatever. What the fuck was she doing at Zach’s? He sure as shit was going to find out. 

He raced over a few blocks and was about to approach the large, stately house when he saw the front door begin to crack open. He dived behind a hedge.

It was Jessica alright. She looked…well, sort of dazed. She had a vacant smile on her face as she stepped out into the sunlight. Almost as if…

_No fucking way_ , Justin thought, blood pressure spiking. But the way she was walking, taking one gingerly step after the other, wincing from the apparent soreness - there was no other explanation. The two had fucked. An Asian man had fucked his woman. Just like the text said one would. He was too paralyzed with rage and embarrassment to call out - to confront her. Instead, she walked down the street in the opposite direction, and he, after a few moments trying to decide whether he would defend his manhood by pounding down Zach’s door and beating the shit out of him - _as if he could_ , he thought bitterly - instead turned, tail between his legs and walked towards home. 

Halfway there, he felt the tears rush down his face.

**

That night, Clay had a dream. It was, to his initial subconscious delight, a sexy dream. But as the image began to materialize in his inner eye, he felt something was amiss.

There was Hannah in a total state of undress, moaning in ecstasy. But he somehow felt…removed from her pleasure. As more came into focus, he began to realize why. Hannah was in a reverse cowgirl position, bouncing herself up and down on a cock that Clay now realized wasn’t his. Her face was scrunched up in pleasure as the hair that wasn’t plastered to her face from exertion bounced all around her. 

The body beneath her, Clay could see now was larger than his own - more muscular. As his line of sight traveled upward towards the head of the bed, he could make out the rest of the large figure. A calm, chiseled face in contrast to the ecstasy on Hannah’s. And raven jet hair.

Zach was fucking Hannah, and Hannah was incoherent with lust.

Suddenly the whole scene lay open before him. Hannah furiously fucking herself on Zach’s cock, but there in the corner, naked as they day he was born, sat Clay gazing upwards towards the two lovers, mouth agape, furiously beating his own meat.

A moment latter, the vision focused in on Zach’s face and Clay could tell he was looking directly at the corner where Clay had sat masturbating. His dark eyes were seared into Clay’s dream mind as he half-snarled, half-sneered:

" _Your turn next, white boy._ ”

Clay shot up from his bed, with a feeling of electricity flowing through him for a brief moment. He sat there in dark for perhaps a minute, catching his breath, feeling the coolness from sweat drying on his skin.

He shifted slightly and grimaced at another sensation of moisture, this time beneath the covers.

He had had a wet dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug: If you've enjoyed the story so far, you can check out some other fanfic captions I have written on my tumblr: celebrity-raceplay.tumblr.com. 
> 
> As always, love getting comments and kudos. Thanks for reading so far. Hope people are enjoying it.


	6. Reason 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The texts begin to ramp up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story contains significant elements of raceplay, humiliation and homosexual themes.

Clay was dreaming again.

He dreamt he was a baby. Or at least that’s what it felt like. He didn’t exactly feel smaller, but he knew he was being held in the arms of someone much larger than him - his mother maybe.

He also couldn’t move at all. Looking down he could see himself swaddled in a red blanket of some sort. A red blanket with yellow stars. It was wrapped around him so tightly, and yet he didn’t mind. It felt so incredibly comfortable against his bare skin.

From above, this mother figure brought a bottle of milk to his lips, and he instinctively took the yellow nipple in his mouth. He could feel the thick, warm liquid coat his tongue and throat as he sucked on the bottle as if he hadn’t had a drink in days. It didn’t exactly taste like milk or have the same consistency, but it was somehow familiar. It reminded him of his bedroom. 

As he kept drinking, he felt wave after wave of pleasurable warmth filling his entire body. Whatever this milk was, he never wanted to stop drinking, and though he could feel his body bloating as he took an impossible amount of liquid into his body, he felt as though he could drink forever and never get full. He closed his eyes against the surging joy he felt within.

Now though as he was sucking, he could feel the nipple begin to twitch and grow in his mouth. And as it grew, more and more of the liquid cascaded down his throat. Clay did his best to swallow every drop, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. He felt his jaw widen as the nipple began to snake its way past his tongue and into his throat. Suddenly he was no longer being cradled in someone’s arms but on his knees still sucking down on the gushing bottle nipple, though he wasn’t quite sure it was a baby bottle any longer.

He opened his eyes only to see a wall of tan flesh not an inch from his face. The nipple - it couldn’t be what he feared it was - was jammed halfway down his throat. He couldn’t breath. He looked upward to see the dark black eyes and smirking face of Zach Dempsey peering down at him.

Clay awoke choking and sputtering, gasping for air. He quickly tried to calm himself down so as to not wake his parents. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a light from his cellphone blinking on his night stand; he had gotten a text sometime in the middle of the night. As he shifted over to reach for the phone he felt that now-familiar slickness emanating from his groin. he winced as he realized he had had another wet dream.

When he opened his phone, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. There, staring back at him was an a photo of the an enormous, angry-looking, erect dick set against golden-brown abs. Clay’s mind was racing as he saw there was a text message right above the photo.

> Reason #6:
> 
> You know that thing about Asian Men having small cocks? It’s a lie told by white boys to mask the truth of their own tiny penises. Asian Men are sexually superior.

Clay could only gape in awe at the evidence in front of him. The dick - no, cock, that seemed to be the only appropriate word for it - had to be at least 8 inches and was incredibly thick too. Clay didn’t know they could be that big; the straight porn he watched always did a careful job of hiding the male stars’ appendages. He reached down to his own member, now wilted after its nocturnal emission, and felt a surprising sense of revulsion. He realized in that moment that he had always harbored some aversion for his own dick - it had always seemed to him kind of ugly and, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, small. He figured he’d be equally turned off by all dicks, as any red-blooded straight boy should, but now seeing this - it was magnificent. There was no other way to put it. He now understood that some cocks at least - Asian cocks - could be beautiful.

** 

Across town, the other white boy victims were slowly waking up and checking their phones to find the not-so-little surprise in their text inboxes. Their respective reactions couldn’t have been different.

Alex merely smirked, thinking about how this Asian cock would put many of the white boys, who boasted of their size and sexual prowess in the locker room, to shame. He got a warm feeling inside thinking that it was probably bigger than his dad’s, and how that fact would fuck with his head and sense of masculinity if he knew.

Justin could feel tears of anger welling up in his eyes. Why the fuck was this person doing this to him? He was a kid for fuck's sake! He thought for the first time about taking this to a school administrator or the cops and then realized how much of a pussy he’d have to be to get so perturbed by a dick pic. Why was he so bothered by it? Sure it was bigger than his. Much bigger, he thought bitterly. But it was more the constant drubbing of humiliation; these texts seemed perfectly timed to coincide with the various failures going on in his life. 

And this so soon after he found out his girlfriend was cheating on him with one of his best friends. His Asian friend. He still hadn’t spoken to Jessica yet. Hadn’t spoken to Zach either. He didn’t know what he would even say when he did. He wanted to kick the shit out of him, but knew Zach could easily overpower him if he tried. He just felt so helpless. Everything was spiraling out of control and this texting pervert was rubbing his nose in it.

Tyler, whose tiny dick was already erect from morning wood, immediately starting jacking off as his mind temporarily went blank. He brought the screen of the phone to his mouth and started frantically licking the glass like a frenzied dog as if trying to break through to the succulent piece of Asian meat on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another long wait and another short chapter. This chapter is an homage to one of my favorite pieces of erotica, Eric East's "Becoming His Pet, Part III." As always, comments and kudos are appreciated and help me know that there's interest in continuing the story. 
> 
> Also check out more raceplay captions and stories at celebrity-raceplay.tumblr.com


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